Rose and the Ninth Doctor end up in Scotland and face a werewolf, warrior monks and a rather irritable monarch. Part of 'A Man Who Wasn't There', Alt!Series 2. Follows 'All Human Ills' and the first Tardisode

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, BBC owns it all.AN: Eternal gratitude to Bonnie for beta reading and fashion commentary :-D

"November 28th, 1969! Best concert of the twentieth century, been meanin' to go for years!"

The Doctor was spinning dials and pulling levers with uncommon enthusiasm. Amber lights of indeterminate origin glinted off of a wide black disc in his hand.

"Oi! Rose! Aren't you ready yet?"

"Hold on!" The girl in question was not in the console room, but her voice floated down the hall nonetheless. "Really though, the Rolling Stones? I mean, whole of time and space and we go see a band that's still touring?"

"You can't go see the Stones in the twenty-first century!" He seemed a bit offended at the idea. "Might toss you home for that sort of blasphemy."

"Alright, alright," her voice was getting closer. "Will this work?"

He glanced up, and his expression froze. There was a long pause before he shook his head and shrugged. "You'll do."

She frowned and looked down, hands on her hips. Not exactly her normal style, but she was attempting to fit in; she thought she looked quite nice – even if the skirt was a bit short and the fabric a bit clingy. She'd found the paisley mini-dress on the rack labelled for Venus in the four hundred and twenty-third century, but it looked rather like something from her aunt Judy's old school photos. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Too cytherean," he replied, not looking at her again as he placed the record into a previously unseen turntable in the belly of the console. "You sure about those boots?"

"You'd be amazed what you can accomplish in a good pair of go-go boots," Rose replied, sauntering over to the console. "What's cytherean?"

"'Of Venus'."

"Right, 'course you can't just say 'too Venus-y'," she rolled her eyes and adjusted the silk scarf that was currently serving as a headband. "When did we get a record player then?"

"Always had it! Don't listen to CDs on my ship, there's nothin' compares to vinyl," he hit a button on the console and the opening bars of 'Honky Tonk Woman' began to flow through the room. He looked up at her and smirked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oi, is that a hint?" She narrowed her eyes. He grinned and moved toward her; she frowned suspiciously and took a step back. "What?"

He grabbed her hands and pulled her close...then immediately pushed her away, spinning her quickly in time to the music. She laughed as she caught on, attempting to keep up with was what not quite a line dance and not quite anything else either. He twirled her around the console a few times, then suddenly released her and grabbed a rubber mallet from beside the console.

She smiled; whatever purpose hitting the console actually served she figured she would never know, but he was managing to do it with perfect rhythm. The TARDIS stopped; he stopped; Rose let go of the rail...and they were both flung against the floor with a bang.

It was several moments before either one could stop laughing for long enough to pull themselves off the grating. Naturally it was the Doctor who first recovered; he glanced quickly over her and, seeing no apparent injuries, jumped to his feet.

"Right, Rose Tyler! 1969," he pulled her up after him. "Boris Karloff dies, Jennifer Lopez is born – hardly fair trade, that; Woodstock! And before you ask, no, we're not goin' there."

"Why not?" She smirked, waiting for a good answer.

"First off 'cause I've already been, second 'cause it was dead dull, nothin' happens except the invention of a few new drug combinations and a whole lot of orgies." He shook his finger at her, as if she were somehow responsible for the actions of her elders. "Altamont – now that's a concert worth goin' to. Hell's Angels, fist fights, lots of people runnin' round, all half mad."

Rose blinked a few times. The Doctor had used the word 'orgies', it seemed the universe ought to implode shortly. "Right, so, we're going to Altamont?"

"Don't be daft," he shot her a glance of pure exasperation. "We're going to Madison Square Garden. See Janis Joplin – fantastic lady, Janis; Ike and Tina Turner before the divorce," he flung open the door and stepped out, pulling Rose with him. "Chuck Berry," he finished with markedly less enthusiasm. The sound of several guns cocking reached his generous ears, and he raised his arms casually. "Not 1969 then."

"You will explain your presence, sir, and the nakedness of this girl," one of the soldiers, a captain, addressed them from horseback. Rose glanced down at her outfit with a bit of a pout, but held her hands up as well as the soldier cocked his pistol.

The Doctor grinned. "Is this Scotland?" His Northern accent thickened just a bit and he shot a pleased glance at Rose.

"Will you identify yourself, sir?" The captain seemed to be losing patience.

"Ah. Right," he glanced at Rose. "I'm Doctor, ah, James McCrimmon. I have my credentials, if you want." He gestured to his jacket and the captain nodded as the Doctor reached into his rather fantastic pockets to retrieve a small flap of leather containing a blank sheet of slightly psychic paper. He held it up to the Captain's inspection, still grinning madly. "See, says there, got a Doctorate from University of Aberdeen."

"Let them approach," a stern and regal voice dragged their attention to the processional beyond the officers. The Doctor shifted, his eyes lighting up.

"I don't think that's wise, Ma'am," the captain frowned, narrowing his eyes at the Doctor – who in turn attempted to look innocent and only made himself look worse for the trying.

"Let them approach," even more imperious in tone. The Doctor raised his eyebrows in question, tilting his head toward the carriage. The captain had no choice but to sigh and allow them to pass.

"You will approach the carriage; and show all due deference," he commanded severely.

The Doctor nodded seriously, but a grin once again nearly split his face in half as they approached and the carriage door opened. An older woman in black silk and lace sat serenely inside, watching them with thinly veiled interest and a smile that was only slightly condescending.

"Rose," the Doctor nodded toward the coach. "Her Majesty, Queen Victoria; Empress of India and Defender of the Faith."

Rose swallowed hard and attempted an awkward curtsy, tugging on the very, very short hem of her dress – suddenly wondering why she hadn't just gone with bell-bottoms instead. "Rose Tyler, Ma'am," she greeted, tittering nervously. "And my apologies, for bein' so naked."

"I've had five daughters. It is nothing to me," she dismissed Rose with those words and her eyes locked upon the Time Lord. "But you, Doctor, show me these credentials."

The Doctor obliged, once again extending his psychic paper with a smile.

"Why didn't you say so immediately? It states clearly here that you have been appointed by the Lord Provost as my protector!"

"Does it now?" He sounded surprised for half a moment. "'Course it does, protector, that's me!" He paused for a moment, glancing ahead at the countryside. "Bein' such, you won't mind me askin', why's Your Majesty not travellin' by train?"

"A tree on the line," she pursed her lips.

He furrowed his brow. "Accident?"

"I am the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. Everything around me tends to be planned."

"Assassination attempt then?"

"What, seriously?" Rose glanced between them. "There's people out to kill ya?"

"I'm quite used to staring down the barrel of a gun," the monarch replied, her eyes fairly sparking with energy.

"Sir Robert MacLeish lives but ten miles hence," the captain rejoined the conversation then, gesturing along the their path. "We'll send word ahead, he'll shelter us for tonight, then we can reach Balmoral tomorrow."

"Indeed," she seemed pleased by the fact, enthused even. "And there are stories of wolves in these parts. Fanciful tales intended to scare the children. But good for the blood, I think." She turned her head sharply, her voice rising for her servants. "Drive on!"

The coach moved on quickly, leaving the two travellers to walk behind. The Doctor reached for Rose's hand, letting their fingers link as they ambled along the path.

"It's funny, though," Rose thought aloud, swinging their joined arms slightly. "'Cause you say 'assassination' and you just think of Kennedy and stuff. Not her."

"Oh, it's been tried half a dozen times by now. Brave lady, her," he grinned down at her, eyes wide. "But you know what?"

She waited, smiling back at him.

"We just met Queen Victoria! One of the best bits of history, right in front of us!"

"Might be worth missin' the Stones for this," he suggested with a smile. "What d'you think?"

"That was your idea, remember?" She grinned. "Oh, I can't believe it! I want her to say 'we are not amused'," her voice took on a faux upper crust accent.

"Oh, don't do that," he made a face. "Makes you sound like Cassandra."

"What, when I talk posh?" She tilted her head, her enthusiasm dropping down a bit. "Y'know, it's funny, I sort of remember what she did but it's like I was drunk or something. All fuzzy 'round the edges."

"Yeah, well," he shifted awkwardly. "No point is there? Best forget about it."

"Guess so," she glanced up at the carriage and the path ahead. "So, ten miles? Really?"

"Told ya not to wear the boots," his tone was smug.

"Oh, shut up."

The Torchwood House was a tall, foreboding sort of place. Vines crawled along slightly discoloured brick, and a tall stone cross stood guard near the entrance.

"Blimey, it looks like somethin' out of an Anne Rice novel," Rose muttered, staring up at the dark manor. The Doctor shot her a surprised glance, to which she shrugged. "I do read y'know."

"Somethin' other than OK! Magazine?" He smirked at her.

"You're gonna get a smack, you keep that up," she warned, waving a finger at him. He just tugged on said finger and pulled her into the courtyard after the royal carriage.

A nobleman stood in the doorway to the house, his posture was anxious but he wore a smile nonetheless.

The queen herself was emerging from the coach, her face brightening as she stood in the cool air. "Sir Robert," she greeted fondly. "My apologies for the emergency. And, how is Lady Isobel?"

Sir Robert shifted hesitantly. "She's... indisposed, I'm afraid – she's gone to Edinburgh for the season. And she's taken the cook with her – the kitchens are barely stocked... I wouldn't blame Your Majesty if you wanted to ride on."

The Doctor frowned slightly, folding his arms and tilting his head at the lord. "Not in the mood for a visit?" He suggested.

"No, of course, Her Majesty is always welcome in my home," Sir Robert stumbled over himself a bit. "I'm worried only for your comfort, Ma'am."

Victoria shook her head slightly. "Oh, not at all! And, I've had quite enough carriage exercise," she looked up, smiling slightly. "This is... charming, if rustic. It's my first visit to this house. My late husband spoke of it often. The Torchwood Estate. Now, shall we go inside?"

Sir Robert hesitated, but the queen ignored him.

"And please excuse the naked girl."

"Think the moors went to her head," the Doctor smirked. "Gone a bit feral. Shoulda gone with my first instinct and got a dog instead, but she was going for cheap and I couldn't resist."

"You couldn't keep a goldfish alive," Rose muttered. "He thinks he's funny, but I'm so not amused." She glanced pointedly at the monarch, while the Doctor snickered a bit behind her. "What do you think, Ma'am?"

"It hardly matters," Victoria pursed her lips. "Shall we proceed?"

"Don't annoy the royalty," the Doctor murmured in Rose's ear as the queen and Sir Robert passed into the house. "I'm a bit fond of my head, don't want it chopped off."

"Alright," Rose sulked a bit. "I still want her to say it."

"Well stop bein' so amusin' and she might just," he nudged her shoulder and grinned. Rose rolled her eyes.

"Makerson and Ramsey, you will escort the Property. Hurry up," the captain eyed the time travellers warily. The soldiers in question sounded their agreement and stepped forward, one of them carefully carrying a small wooden box.

The Doctor craned his neck, peering at it. "What's that, then?" He glanced to the captain curiously.

"Property of the Crown," he replied firmly. "You will dismiss any further thoughts, sir."

"That's easer said than done," the Doctor muttered to Rose, who sniggered. He offered her his arm with a smile and the two continued inside – being led quickly to the observatory after Victoria and her entourage.

The queen herself was standing just inside, staring at what looked to be a great telescope.

"This, I take it, is the famous Endeavour," she stated, more than asked.

"My father's work," Sir Robert replied quietly. "Built by hand in his final years. Became something of an obsession -- he spent his money on this rather than caring for the house or himself."

The Doctor just shook his head in mild amazement. "Well spent," he said, half to himself. "That's a thing o' beauty." He strode forward, looking up through the lenses. "Where'd he get the plans?"

"Oh, I know nothing about it," Sir Robert shrugged. "To be honest, most of us thought him a little... shall we say, eccentric."

The Doctor nodded absently, poking at the machine. "It's a fine line there, sometimes you wobble over." He grinned to himself. "Generally like to stay on the side of brilliance, me."

"I wish now I'd spent more time with him," he sighed, regretfully. "And listened to his stories."

"Look, Rose!" The Doctor pointed up suddenly, dragging his companion over and ignoring the nobility. "See the prisms? Way too many. He must've been half mad, coulda built a whole 'nother telescope with those. More, if he didn't care to get a good look at Pluto." He straightened, smiling again. "Still, thing o' beauty."

"The imagination of it should be applauded," Victoria added, her expression softening.

"That it should," he nodded.

"Thought you might disapprove, Your Majesty. Stargazing. Isn't that a bit fanciful?" Rose suggested eagerly. The Doctor rolled his eyes and chuckled softly. She elbowed him and continued. "It's not very...amusing. Is it?"

"This device surveys the infinite work of God," Victoria looked rather offended. "What could be finer? Sir Robert's father was an example to us all. A polymath. Steeped in astronomy and sciences, yet equally well versed in folklore and fairy tales."

"The important thing is knowin' the one from the other," the Doctor interjected quickly. "Sir Robert's father seemed to get a bit confused on that note."

"My late husband thought him brilliant," the monarch replied, rather severely. "They became quite close. Prince Albert himself was acquainted with many rural superstitions; coming as he did from Saxe Coburg."

Rose frowned, glancing curiously at the Doctor. "Wasn't he English?" She whispered.

"Nope, Bavarian," he rolled his eyes and ignored her glare. "Do they even teach history in England any more?"

"Sorry, must have missed 'racial background of the Prince Consorts day'," she hissed.

Victoria cleared her throat, her eyes narrowing briefly. "As I was saying," she paused, pursing her lips. The time travellers looked guilty, and said nothing. "My late husband found whimsical tales fascinating; when he was told about the local wolf, he was transported."

"What's this wolf story?" The Doctor interrupted again.

"Just a legend," Sir Robert hedged.

"Oh, I'm a big fan of legends meself," the Doctor wore a sudden and dopey grin.

Sir Robert exchanged glances with the queen. "A...fan?" He questioned after a moment.

They were startled by a sudden interruption; one of the servants spoke up, suggesting that the group should retire. The Doctor and Rose exchanged curious glances – noting not only the strange behaviour of a 'lower' citizen, but the manner in which Sir Robert accepted the suggestion.

"Yes, and then supper," the monarch added. "And," the slightest sneer accompanied her words. "Could we find some clothes for Miss Tyler? I am tired of nakedness."

"Well, I'm sorry," Rose mumbled, rubbing her arms through the jersey knit sleeves. "It's not all fun an' games for me either."

"Yes, Ma'am," Sir Robert replied quickly. "I'm sure I can find a servant's dress for her."

"Servant's dress?" Rose glanced at the Doctor and narrowed her eyes when he studiously looked not-in-her-direction. "I'm not his -"

"Yes," Victoria nodded. "Then we shall dine at seven, and have more talk of this wolf. After all...there is a full moon tonight."

Sir Robert sagged further, but he nodded and smiled. "So there is, Ma'am."

The Doctor followed cheerfully as one of the bald servants led Rose to a small, sparse bedroom and rather roughly handed her a coarse black gown.

"This will fit," he informed her, a bit rudely, before leaving the pair alone.

The Doctor leaned against the wall, sniggering as she held up the well-worn dress and made a rather awful face. "Don't like it?"

She raised her eyebrows, her voice taking on a note of surprise. "What! Doctor McCrimmon, Lord Protector, deigns to speak to the feral servant girl! What a scandal."

"What've I told you about sulkin'?"

"You," she put the dress on the bed and waved a finger at him. "Should be busy apologizin'."

"Oh, it was just a joke," he folded his arms across his chest. "Gonna get stroppy over a joke?"

"Alright, it was funny until they believed you," Rose narrowed her eyes. "Why's everyone always got to think I'm a servant or a prostitute 'round you?"

"Can't say, but I'd think it works out," he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Since I'm the one they usually try to kill straight off."

"Leavin' me time to save you," Rose rolled her eyes, but grinned a little anyway. "How'd you ever stay alive before me?"

"Oh, blind luck," he grinned back. "Now you get yourself decent and come downstairs before they have you eat in the kitchen."

She rolled her eyes and picked up the dress again, holding it up distastefully. "You owe me," she said after a short pause, glaring over her shoulder. "You so owe me."

"Go on, hurry up!" He shot her one more cheeky grin before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

"Gonna kill him," she muttered to herself, squirming out of her hippie-wear and sorting through the Victorian underpinnings. Her vast experience with strange wardrobes lead her to make quick work of the rough garments, though she steadfastly refused to wear the apron that had been tied with it. Instead she pulled the scarf from her hair and knotted it loosely around her neck. The bit of pale pink brightened it considerably, in her opinion.

The fact that she hadn't been provided with shoes led to an interesting fashion decision, but given the Victorian opinion on ankles she settled that it was safer to have them covered in brown pleather than risk any more references to 'nakedness'.

It was a few minutes later, after she left the small bedchamber, that she realized her host had been rather vague in his descriptions of the manor. Which in turn meant that after passing down at least two identical hallways, and one that she thought vaguely might have been a repetition of the first, she was completely lost.

The Doctor was prone to simply opening doors and hoping one of them led the direction he wanted, and she would never have hesitated to follow him – but she felt a bit more awkward doing so by herself. Any one of them might be a bedroom or worse; she didn't think they had indoor plumbing yet in this age but she was sure they had something that passed for a loo anyway. The last thing she wanted was to interrupt something like that, given that she had already caused enough irritation in Queen Victoria. "I'm so not amused," she muttered, her lips twitching into a small smile despite herself.

She stopped by a window and tried to orient herself again. She could at least narrow down which wing she'd wandered into; from there it should be easy and why were all the soldiers lying down?

Rose went pale and pushed it open, leaning into the courtyard. "Oi, you there!" She called down, waiting for a response. She got none. "Not good," she hissed, spotting more unconscious guards at the opposite end. She shuffled back and picked up her skirt, preparing for a good run – if nothing else, she'd garner attention that way.

One of the man servants stood at the end of the hall, his eyes locked solidly on hers. She hesitated, glancing at the still-open window. "I think somethin's wrong downstairs," she said, backing away from him slightly. "The soldiers -"

"They have been taken care of," he replied, his voice oddly flat.

"Okay," Rose tried not to sound panicky, and thought she might almost be succeeding. Until she felt an arm around her waist and another pressing a sweet smelling cloth against her nose. The hall began to blur at the edges; there was a hint of regret in the servants eyes as he approached and she felt herself growing heavy as her captors lifted her into their arms.

A soft groan of protest escaped her, before at last the world went dark.

Sir Robert's library was extensive, and the Doctor was entirely pleased by it. He ought to have gone straight for the man himself, or the queen perhaps, or really anyone who might explain the odd behaviour that was going around...but it was really a lovely library.

He debated keeping his dignity and sitting calmly in front of the fire – then he spotted a first edition of Frankenstein and couldn't hold back an entirely undignified "OOH!" as he pulled it down.

"Classic really, pity no one actually reads it since they made a film," he muttered to himself, thumbing through the pages. He, of course, had his own copy that was nearly identical to this one – but there was an endless fascination in him for the things that survived the slow path. He placed it rather reverently back on the shelf and drifted his long fingers over the spines beside it. "The Wolf-Leader," he read aloud. "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, The Vampyre; this bloke really does like the supernatural."

The Doctor shook his head. "Just the Doctor, thanks," he interrupted. He glanced at the walls with a slight grimace. "Bet he woulda been a Trekkie if he was born a century later. Did he always have this obsession?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sir Robert shook his head. "No, not until late in life, after – well, late. Doctor, I must request that you remain with Her Majesty's party," he hesitated and looked at the door again, a worried frown crossing his countenance. "It's best you proceed to the dining room."

"No," he forced an awkward chuckle. "I'm only a bit...on edge, what with the state of the house. I've not prepared for visitors."

"Ah," the Doctor grinned suddenly. "Alright then, glad to hear it."

"Yes, and really, if you don't mind, Doctor -" the Doctor held up a hand, cutting Sir Robert off mid-sentence. "I'm sorry?"

"Did you hear that?" He moved closer to the door, his brow furrowed slightly.

"No," the other man looks genuinely confused. "What did you hear?"

"Not sure. Good hearin' though, me; it was somethin'," the Doctor peered into the hall. "Back in a mo'; got a trouble-happy blonde to check on."

If he'd paid further mind to the Lord of the manor, he might have seen the terror in his eyes, or the broken way he sank to the settee. Unfortunately, the Doctor had shifted his attention elsewhere, and Sir Robert's telling attitude went unnoticed.

The Doctor wandered back the way he'd come, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. He wasn't exactly hurrying through the halls; no, he would classify his pace as a 'purposeful meander' at best, but he pulled out the sonic screwdriver regardless. The weight of it in his palm was comforting – not that he needed it.

One of the doors along the way was slightly ajar; there was a brief moment in which the Doctor pretended to be the sort of person capable of walking past an open door without peering in – but he failed. That was one lie he couldn't even tell himself.

It was dark in the room, no light save the faintest hints of setting sun through the far window. He thumbed on the 'torch' setting of his rather fantastic multi-tool and directed it through the shadows. There was nothing out of place, and he might have simply moved on in his quest...had she not moved.

He crossed the room and flung open the wardrobe, stopping in surprise when he spotted a tear-streaked young maid, cowering among the gowns.

"Oh," he said, rather dumbly. He smiled and held up his screwdriver-free hand. "Hello!"

The girl shook her head, her dark eyes widening fearfully.

"Oh, I'm nothin' to be scared of," he informed her jovially. "I'm here to help. I'm the Doctor."

"It's not safe," her voice hitched and she leaned forward earnestly. "Please, sir, you must hide."

He raised his eyebrows, but his smile didn't falter. "Not the hiding sort. What isn't safe?" He extended his hand, helping the girl to her feet.

She looked around him to the open door, a slight whimper escaping her. "Them," she breathed. "They – they came through the house; they took the Steward and the Master. And my Lady."

"Ah," the Doctor nodded. "Right. What's your name?"

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "Flora," she answered finally.

"Right then, Flora," his tone darkened just a bit. "We're going to find my companion, then I'll get this all sorted, alright? Not to worry. Just come with me and you'll be safe."

She nodded slowly, meeting his gaze for the first time. "Y-yes, sir," she stammered.

He grinned again, though his eyes remained thunderous. He turned on his heel and this time he entered the hall at a dead run.

There was a short pause at a simple door by the back staircase; a brief knock and then investigation of the silence. The chamber was empty; that it had ever been occupied was evidenced only by the pale pink garment strewn across the bed.

The Doctor chose not to waste energy calming himself before descending the stairs, as quickly as his long legs allowed and paying no heed to the frightened maid following him. It was a matter of moments to reach the dining room, and no longer than that to realize the marked absence of hearty blonde among the party at supper.

"Right then," he clenched his fists and levelled his gaze at Sir Robert. "You want your secrets? That's just too bad. Where have they taken Rose?"

The nobleman paled and looked helplessly toward one of his servants, the bald man standing rapt at the window. "I don't know what you're talking about," he tried.

"You do not want to lie to me," his voice was low and very calm. "Where is she?"

"I -" his mask shattered. "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, but they took my wife!"

Captain Reynolds jumped to his feet, immediately assisting the queen away from the table.

"Explain yourself, Sir Robert!" The captain demanded, pulling out his pistol and glancing between the others warily.

"The Wolf, 'tis no local superstition, Ma'am, but God's truth!" Sir Robert shot her a tortured glance. "A creature worshipped by the Brethren at the Glen of Saint Catherine; they've brought it here!" He pointed to the servant. They hadn't noticed while absorbed in their drama, but his lips were working silently, a single phrase over and over. His voice grew, a whisper to a chant.

"Lupus deus est."

The Doctor's fragile control snapped; he found himself staring down into the cool eyes of the monk. "What have you done with Rose?!"

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